Love and Madness's production of Frankenstein boldly asserts in the programme that it wishes to 'push visions of Boris Karloff to the back of our minds and meet Mary Shelley's story with untainted eyes...' It goes further: 'Catriona has delivered an adaptation - it has been argued - better than the book.' Neither of these statements is true.
       How untainted can a modern audience be, brought up on lumbering creature-features, where the bench mark for all successful productions must be the sequence when the creature is brought to life? This is one of the plays most successful scenes, strobe lighting conveys the white-hot brilliance of an electrical storm and the trellised window through which Victor Frankenstein peers (suggesting he is imprisoned by his own vistas) throws up a barred silhouette on the wall which references such contemporary scientific devices as the Lightning Cage. Craig Tonks lumbering creature with a face half covered in a strawberry birthmark and stitches down the centre of his head is easily the strongest actor. He spits copiously and monstrously, attired in ragged nineteenth century dinner dress with the posture and unnerving gentleness of a club bouncer, explaining the dress code before putting the boot in.
       A re-reading of Frankenstein offers scope for the creature's innate goodness, only made monstrous by the cruelty of men. It is men who make monsters, and set such great store by monstrosity-one can imagine only too easily the nineteenth century mob hunting down the suspected child killer Justine (she is executed although innocent). It is men who make the laws and promote injustice. But opportunities for an 'untainted' adaptation of the story are missed. Alas when we meet the creature he already is an agent of vengeance, the Hammer house cliché rather than the book's suggestion of a damaged, unloved child.
       The story is of course a warning about bad parenting and in particular the lack of maternal love. It's no coincidence that Victor Frankenstein, his bride-to-be Elizabeth, the De Lacy family in exile, the serving girl Justine Moritz and the creature too all suffer from the loss of a loving mother. What the creature needs is a big hug! What he gets instead is a neurotic father - a performance of prolonged hysteria from Nathan Brine's Victor Frankenstein, all foppish blond hair and green tail coat. He roars and sinks to his knees (giving the monster a good run for his money). His characteristic reaction to his own tampering is to roll into a foetal ball and launch into whimpers and self-pitying rhetoric. Brine's limited emotional register fails to engage the audience but then so does this adaptation of Shelley's wonderful modern myth.
Daniel Jeffreys